The Ambassador's jewels
by LittlePippin76
Summary: This one is very loosely based on the Blue Carbuncle, and it's been pushed to the point of nearly being a farce. Still, I kind of like it and I hope you do too. Now complete! Pip.
1. Chapter 1

**This one is very loosely based on the Blue Carbuncle. It is not, as promised, the mystery that Sherlock's working on while John's baby is being born. It's about seven weeks before that happy event. I'm still intending to write that one, hopefully before S2 is aired and I go off on another tangent entirely.**

**Also, this one very nearly counts as farce. I hope that's OK.**

**Anyhow, here it is for now, please enjoy. It will be in three parts. The aim is to have Chapter 2 up tonight, and Chapter 3 in the morning.**

**Pip.**

* * *

Chapter One

Mycroft Holmes opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

"Knight to king's bishop four."

Sherlock shifted sulkily in his armchair. He gazed at the bookshelves in the room, then across at the smiley face shot into the wall, then at the carpet. Then he sighed.

"Rook to Queen's rook three."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really." He snarled slightly.

Mycroft closed his eyes again. He opened them when the door suddenly burst open and John came in, closed the door behind him, and rested his head on it.

Mycroft and Sherlock glanced at each other. Their faces were suddenly animated and interested, both of them suppressing smiles, their bodies alert and poised.

"Good morning, John," Mycroft said.

"Morning." He didn't move his head from the door.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked him.

"You don't want to guess?" Mycroft asked him.

"I don't guess."

"Go on then, what is John doing here?"

"I'm hiding" John told them.

Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged that glance again.

"Who are you hiding from?" Sherlock asked.

"Mary."

"Is Mary here somewhere?"

"No, she's at home."

"Then we must surely congratulate you on an excellent hiding place," Mycroft said. "And I'd suggest to Mary that next time she plays hide and seek with you that she insists that you remain in the same building."

"Has Mary had the baby yet?" Sherlock asked.

John turned around. "No, of course she hasn't had the baby yet! She's still got seven weeks to go and you know that because you've asked me when it's due every time you've seen me for the past… oh! You're doing that really, really funny thing where you ask me stupid questions just to wind me up. Well done. Ha ha."

"I'd apologise but you have to take some responsibility for making it so damned easy at the moment."

John sat down on the sofa and looked at them, dejected. "I've lost the turkey."

Sherlock and Mycroft suppressed grins again.

"Well I'm sure that Tesco has some frozen ones left," Mycroft told him.

"Mycroft, I can tell you've never been married."

"Actually, John, I'm a widower. I was married for three days in 1992. My wife was tragically killed in a skiing accident on our honeymoon."

John looked shocked. "God, Mycroft, I'm so sorry! I had no idea!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, John, he's lying! Come on now, who in the world would ever marry _him_?"

"You are right," Mycroft said to Sherlock. "It is ridiculously easy at the moment."

"Well thank you! Thank you both so much! Just out of interest, does either of you two clowns have any idea of how long a human pregnancy lasts?"

"Two years," Sherlock said.

"I hear it's about nine months," Mycroft said.

"No, not _about_ nine months. It's forty weeks dated from the first day of the last menstrual period prior to conception."

"Wait," Sherlock said. "That makes no sense. By that reckoning every menstruating female is automatically pregnant on every given month, whether she intends to conceive or not. Even the single ones are pregnant as soon as they're menstruating!"

"And anyway," Mycroft added, "if you discounted the two weeks that happens even prior to conception, you've got thirty-eight weeks which is, as I said, approximately nine months."

"That's how they date it! They date it from the first day of the last period and using that calculation the woman is full term at thirty seven weeks, and overdue at forty two weeks, and, and, and… And you're both spectacularly missing the point!"

"You had a point?" Mycroft asked. "I do apologise, I thought it was a biology based spot-quiz."

"Leave him alone, Mycroft. He doesn't like to be teased about it. What was your point, John?"

"My point was that the average human pregnancy is approximately ten weeks too long for anyone involved to retain any semblance of sanity!"

"Well yes. I thought you had to be completely insane to want to procreate in the first place," Sherlock said.

"Nnnyyygg!" John said, and he threw himself back on the sofa, covering his face with his hands.

Sherlock grinned. "I'm sorry, John. Please, will you tell us about your turkey? Please? We promise that we'll help if we can."

"Really?"

"Really."

"OK. Mary, because she's completely and utterly crazy, decided back in August that she'd like to do Christmas Dinner for her family. I did explain to her that she'd be seven months pregnant this Christmas, but no. No, no, my wife knows better than anyone, so she invited her sister and her brother and her brother's frankly hideous children, and they're all going to be at sodding Christmas Dinner at our place tomorrow, and Mary has finally admitted that she is a bit achy and a bit tired, and obviously now I'm cooking the whole bloody meal, because I'm a good husband like that.

"Today, I was sent to go and collect the ruddy free-range, organic turkey that she ordered back in August. This thing has been reared on a small holding with some other ruddy turkeys. These turkeys have been treated like bloody royalty. Or at least they better have been, because I've apparently paid two hundred and fifty quid for the sodding bird. The sodding bird that was slaughtered, plucked and cleaned yesterday, deemed ready for collection today, and will be cooked and eaten by my hateful in-laws. I need it today, because it's just occurred to both of us that we haven't actually got an oven big enough to cook a Christmas Dinner for eight people, so I need to cook it today, because the spuds can't be left over night.

"So I got up at some stupid hour this morning to travel to bloody Holland Park. I then stood for over an hour, waiting in the queue at bloody Lidgates, and I was handed my turkey, the one that cost more than my child's bloody cot, and I was happily carrying it home when I was set upon by some sod on roller blades! He knocked halfway across the pavement and when I got to my feet again the turkey was ruddy gone! I chased but he was gone before I could get close. I was marginally closer to here than I was to my place, and I thought I was a hell of a lot safer here than I would be if I turned up at home with no bloody turkey, so here I am."

Mycroft and Sherlock stared at him, bemused.

"You see," Mycroft said to Sherlock, "this is why I never married."

"This is not why you never married, Mycroft. You never married because no-one could stand your company for more than an hour at a time."

"I thought you two were going to _help_!" John yelled. "Mary is going to beat me to a ruddy pulp!"

"Don't be silly, John," Sherlock said. "Mary would probably upset herself into labour long before she was able to beat you to a pulp."

John gibbered slightly.

"John," Mycroft answered. "My dear man, I can source you a turkey. I can even source you a free-range organic turkey if that is your preference."

"Not on Christmas Eve you can't," John replied.

Mycroft stiffened. "John, I assure you that if you want a free-range, organic turkey, even on Christmas Eve, I _can_ source one for you."

"Oh, John, you've upset his delicate self-confidence now," Sherlock said, with a smirk.

"Sorry, Mycroft, I didn't mean to doubt you, but Turkeys of that type and size, they don't exactly fall out of the sky."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!"

Lestrade came into the flat, carrying with him a heavy looking black bin-liner.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"You're not." Sherlock told him. "We were just having a game of chess."

Lestrade frowned. "You haven't got a board."

"We don't need a board."

"Sherlock can't be trusted with chess pieces," Mycroft told him. "He gets upset and throws them at people."

"Of course, without the pieces I could just go straight to strangling people."

"I'll take my chances."

"Mycroft, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Met. He's a _friend._ Lestrade this is Mycroft, he's… he's a toad."

Lestrade frowned as Mycroft sighed dramatically. He shook it all off. "Sherlock, I need you for a case."

"Can't. Busy. Helping John."

"Oh, John, hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you."

"It's fine."

"Merry Christmas."

"And to you."

"How's your wife? Mary isn't it? Isn't she pregnant?"

John fell sideways burying his face in the sofa cushions and he gave a muffled and subdued groan.

"Ignore him, Lestrade. He's gone mad. He gave us some ridiculous information about human reproduction, claiming that Mary's both three weeks overdue and has another two months to go at one and the same time. He's a little stressed about the whole situation. I understand this is normal in expectant parents."

From the sofa, there was the muffled sound of John telling Sherlock to go somewhere and do something physical and fun. Sherlock grinned.

"OK, well if John's needs aren't immediate…"

"They are!" John yelled.

"Look, there's a crime, it's Christmas, none of the guys who haven't taken leave want to touch it because it's too damned weird and not high profile enough, and I obviously thought of you."

"Oh, the flattery."

"Look, there was a fight on Portobello Road, a man carrying a turkey was attacked by a man…"

"On rollerblades?" John asked.

"Yeah. How did you know that?"

"I was also attacked by a man on rollerblades while carrying a turkey."

"God! Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, but thanks for caring enough to ask."

"Lestrade, please continue," Sherlock snapped.

"Well anyway the man on rollerblades basically knocked down the other one and grabbed his turkey. The chap got up and followed, yelling all sorts of stuff. Fortunately for them, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, a uniformed officer was just on the corner and he gave chase. The blades-guy got lost in the crowd, but we think he must have been caught by the other guy who grabbed his turkey back. We think, anyhow. The officer got close and got his hand on the chap who now had his turkey back. The chap took one look at my officer, screamed, shed his jacket, dropped his turkey and ran off."

Sherlock stared at him for a while. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I think the world's gone mad," Sherlock said.

"Look, it's a crime. Well, it's sort of a crime, if we can chase down both chaps and get one to press charges against the other. But until that happens, I'm stuck here with a jacket and a turkey that's about to go off, neither of which I want, and there needs to be some sort of explanation. And no-one else I know likes explaining as much as you do. So Merry Christmas."

"I think I can offer a solution to all of this," Mycroft said. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, do you have the turkey in that bag?"

"Yes, I've got the turkey and the jacket."

"Marvellous. Please hand the turkey to Doctor Watson, and the coat to Sherlock. There we all, now we're all happy. Well done everyone."

"Oh come on!" Sherlock said. "There's no way that John's going to take away a turkey that clearly belongs to someone else!"

"Actually, I think I am."

"No! Of course you're not! That's just a turkey! This," he said, shaking the jacket at him, "_this_, is a mystery!"

"I'm keeping the turkey."

"But you'll come to Lidgate's with me before going home."

"No, I'm going to take this home now, I'm going to cook it in what suddenly seems to be the world's smallest oven, and tomorrow I'm going to serve it to my wife's vile family tomorrow. I'm going to do this because I value my life more than I value my… values."

Sherlock sighed. "Lestrade, will you come to Lidgate's with me?"

"No chance. I've got a stack of paperwork a mile high, I'm overseeing three different investigations, and it's Christmas Day tomorrow, and I also have a wife who wants me home."

"No you don't."

"Well, I have a wife."

"That I'll grant you. So, nobody's going to help me. Fine, well thank you all. You'll note that when _you _need help, you're more than happy to burden me with your petty problems. But will you help me? No. Nowhere to be seen then, are you." John and Lestrade looked slightly shame-faced.

"I'll come with you," Mycroft said. John and Lestrade brightened slightly.

Sherlock stopped for a moment and looked at the floor. "No, it's fine, I don't want to go any more." He sniffed and curled himself into a ball.

John and Lestrade looked at him for a moment.

"Right, good then," Lestrade said. "John, can I give you a lift home?"

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks. See you then, Sherlock." He waited but Sherlock didn't move. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"Merry Christmas, John."

He closed the door behind him. Sherlock sat up immediately.

"They've gone? They've actually gone! Neither of them… Well I like that!"

"Oh dear, Sherlock, do none of your friends want to play out with you?"

"They have no loyalty!"

"Oh settle down, I said I'd go with you if you really need a babysitter."

"I need an _assistant._"

"Fine, give me the coat then."

"Not until I've finished with it."

"Sherlock, just out of interest, are you ever intending to grow up?"

In the end Sherlock dropped the jacket on the floor by his chair. "It's your move,' he said.

An hour later Sherlock's phone rang. He answered.

"Oh it's the traitor. The turncoat. The one person I thought I could rely on. Is it possible that you're calling me to apologise?"

"Shut up, Sherlock. Can you come to the flat please? There's something… there's something a bit odd with this Turkey."

"Oh, no apology then, but yet another cry for help. Joy."

"OK then." John hung up.

A second later Mycroft's phone rang.

"Good afternoon, John."

"Hi, Mycroft, can you possibly come over to the flat? There's something odd about this turkey. I thought Sherlock might be interested, but I can see he's still sulking."

"We'll be there shortly, John. Thank you for your call." He hung up and looked at Sherlock. "Are you coming?"

There was a moment of inner turmoil before Sherlock relented. "Well I'll have to, won't I! You won't be capable of doing what I do."

"Fine, Sherlock. Just go and get dressed and then we can go."

They arrived at John's flat a little over half an hour later and they followed him into the kitchen.

"What the hell happened in here?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing. This is what a Christmas dinner looks like before any of it has been cooked."

"This is far too much food for eight people. I'm not surprised you're oven isn't big enough."

"Look, I need you to look at this." He took them to the dining table.

"This table isn't nearly big enough for eight people," Sherlock told him. "You've got the table, food and people ratio completely wrong."

"Sherlock! You're not being helpful!"

"Well maybe I'd feel more inclined to help if you had invited me to your Christmas Party."

John stared at him in a shocked silence for a moment. "I _did!_"

"No you didn't."

"I did, Sherlock! I said, 'are you coming?' and you said 'yes', and then I said, 'because Mary's vile brother and his hideous children will be there', and you said, 'oh, no then' and then you appeared to delete the whole thing from your mind! So don't blame me if you've got nowhere to go this Christmas!"

Mary appeared behind them. "John, please don't talk about my family that way."

John winced as Sherlock sniggered.

"I'm sorry," John said blushing. "Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you up. You should go back to bed."

"No, I couldn't sleep anyway. Sherlock, Mycroft, can I get you a tea or a coffee at all?"

"No, thank you," Mycroft said, giving her a concerned look. "Surely you should be resting or something."

"I'd love a tea, Mary," Sherlock said. "John, where on Earth did you get this?"

He held up a greasy looking money-bag. Inside it, he could see an amount of jewellery.

"That's what I'm trying to explain!" John told him. "That little lot was inside the turkey!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Apologies, chapter three may be a little later than tomorrow morning. Damn Pip and her broken promises! I'm aiming to get it up tomorrow, but it's still not finished.**

* * *

Chapter Two

The three men stood looking at the bag for a while. None of them felt the need to open it.

"So, what do I do with them?" John asked.

"Well, I take it you have called the police," Sherlock answered, sitting down at the table to peer closely at the bag.

"Not yet, no."

"Really, John? What on earth is wrong with you at the moment? You are not this stupid!"

"It's true," Mary said, handing Sherlock a cup of tea, "and yet, he keeps suggesting that _I'm_ the one going mad during this pregnancy."

Sherlock smiled at her as he pulled out his phone to call Lestrade.

"Mary, are you sure you don't want to sit down?" Mycroft asked her. "Here, have a seat." He pulled a dining chair out for her.

"I'm fine, Mycroft, thank you."

"But you're…"

"I'm pregnant, that's all. It's fine."

"But you're _huge_."

"Thanks, Mycroft." She gave him a tight smile. "John, don't forget you have to start peeling the potatoes soon!" She wandered back off to the bedroom and John sighed and hung his head.

"Lestrade's on his way." Sherlock told him. "If he can stop his hysterical laughter well enough to drive. John, wait a second, why do you have to peel the potatoes now? You said you wouldn't cook them until tomorrow."

"I'll par-boil them today, then leave them to dry overnight before roasting them to ensure the perfect crispy skin."

"You really can cook, can't you!" Sherock said, frowning.

"Yes I can. The fact that I don't choose to do so for an ungrateful and picky flatmate doesn't mean I _can't_"

"Fine. Whatever. Do you have a pen?"

"John has to peel the potatoes." Mycroft told him. "Here, I have a pen."

Sherlock took it from him and carefully opened the bag. He used the pen to slowly pull the jewellery onto the table. There was a ring with a large sapphire and diamonds encrusted around it, there was a pair of earrings that appeared to vaguely match the ring, and there was a bracelet that appeared, at first glance, to be more diamond than anything else.

"You do know what these are, don't you?" Sherlock said.

"Yes," John replied. "These are like the plastic cars and stuff you get inside cereal boxes, but the equivalent for two hundred and fifty quid worth of Christmas turkey." He giggled.

Sherlock gave him a look. "Are you drunk?"

"No, but I'm beginning to think I should be soon. I'm going to open the Christmas beer. Would either of you like a Christmas beer?" They both frowned at him. "Fine. All the more for me!" He went into the kitchen.

"So you know what these are then," Mycroft asked.

"Yes I do. I take it you do too?"

"Oh for heaven's sake," John said, coming back to them with a bottle of beer in his hand. "I have no idea what they are, other than expensive pieces of jewellery that are serving no purpose other than to delay me cooking Christmas Dinner. Is one of you going to enlighten me?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Sherlock said, "and I'm _not_ mistaken, these are the jewels that were stolen from the Greek Ambassador's room at the Kensington Hilton yesterday."

"Of course, you'll need to have that verified," Mycroft said to him.

"Of course. But I'm not wrong."

"So why are they in my turkey?" John asked.

Sherlock and Mycroft looked at each other.

"Well it seems quite obvious to me." Mycroft said.

"And me too!" Sherlock said. "And they will be to John too, when he's had a look at the coat, I would think."

"What?" John asked.

"The coat that was dropped by the escaping turkey thief as he ran away. I've left it on the sofa. Why don't you have a look and tell Mycroft what it tells you about the perpetrator of the terrible crime?"

John glanced at Mycroft, looking at him expectantly and then at Sherlock, looking calmly at the jewels. He bit back his first response and went to sit on the sofa. He examined the jacket closely.

"OK," he said. He cleared his throat a few times. "OK, well, he is clearly a medium sized man. And he likes fashion, I reckon. It's quite a smart jacket, I think this brand is expensive, so probably a professional person. And, er…" he pulled a face. "The owner really likes turkey?"

Mycroft smiled at Sherlock who sniffed, stood up and snatched the coat back from John with a stern look.

"This coat belongs to a young man, one who was doing well for himself financially a few years ago, but who has fallen on poorer times. The pockets are worn through, he never bothered to have the lining mended or replaced though. He bought the coat new, and it was expensive so that was a good spot. On the other hand, professional people don't wear jackets of this type. They wear suits and long, smart coats. Like Mycroft. Not like you. He has red brown hair, which he wears short. It was recently cut; you can see razor shavings on the collar. And, just so you know, he was a drug dealer."

"How do you know?" Mycroft asked sharply.

Sherlock flung him the coat. "See for yourself. I don't know him personally, Mycroft, if that's what you think. The fact that he ran from the police suggests he's known to them." He sat down at the table and started texting.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked him.

"I'm advertising on Gumtree."

"What for?"

"A hit-man who specialises in fratricide."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"You know, the two of you can really put a person of wanting multiple children," John said. He went off to start peeling the potatoes.

Sherlock and Mycroft glared at each other again. Eventually Sherlock sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Queen to King's knight four. Oh dear, I appear to have taken your knight."

oOo

Lestrade arrived about twenty minutes later. John let him in and he stood at the table, shaking his head for a while.

"Bloody hell," he said, eventually.

"Aren't you pleased that the Ambassador's jewels have been found?" John asked him.

"Well, yeah. But…" He sighed and shook his head again.

Sherlock smiled. "I believe Lestrade's somewhat subdued reaction is due to the fact that he somehow has to explain in official paperwork, that for quite some time he had possession of the Ambassador's jewels. Unfortunately, rather than investigating the 'low profile' crime, he handed the only piece of evidence to someone he believes to be a madman, and handed the jewels to a close, personal friend."

"Yes. It is a bit of a pain," Lestrade said.

"Well, you can have the jewels back," John told him, "but I'm keeping the turkey."

"John the turkey is evidence now," Sherlock told him.

"And soon it will be delicious and golden brown evidence."

Sherlock sighed. "Tell me you at least kept the packaging."

"Of course I did!"

"Good. Where is it?"

"It's under the potato peelings and coffee grounds, in the bin."

There was a pause as they all thought about this.

"I'm fairly sure that digging through the bin is the assistant's job," Sherlock said to Mycroft.

Mycroft stiffened and paused. "I'm not sure there has been sufficient handover from your previous assistant. John should show me how bin-diving is done."

"I don't care as long as I get to keep my turkey," John said. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a plastic tray and wrapping and a cardboard tag on elastic.

"John, I really can't believe you're cooking the turkey despite the fact that the cardboard tag clearly says 'M Baker'." Sherlock said to him. "Lestrade, you'll want to take the wrappings for fingerprinting, even though it will be covered with John's. Speaking of whom, I take it you do have an alibi for yesterday, John. Ideally something more substantive than 'I was at home with my wife'."

"Well obviously I didn't do it!"

"Can you prove that?" Lestrade asked.

"What? I mean, _obviously_ I'm not a master criminal!"

"Ah, the 'I'm not a master criminal' defence." Sherlock said. "John, whoever stole these stuffed them into a recently deceased turkey. I don't think we're looking for a _master_ _criminal_!"

"No but seriously, am I… I mean, do I need to… Am I actually a suspect?"

"Dear God!" Mycroft said, alarmed. "Is this honestly how impending fatherhood effects the human male? How does the species possibly survive?"

"Oh, I see, another wind up," John said. "Ha bloody ha. OK, well if I'm not needed for questioning I'm getting back to the cooking. And just so you know, anyone who's not out of my flat in the next five minutes will be peeling sprouts."

Sherlock and Mycroft smiled to themselves.

"Where next, Little Brother?" Mycroft asked. "You mentioned Lidgates."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "Do I really have to?"

"Well you could leave it to the police."

"The police would be really grateful if you were able to help them though," Lestrade told him.

"I suppose it's up to you, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "How interesting a puzzle is it?"

Sherlock twisted the 'M Baker' label in his hand for a moment. "Fine. Fine, let's go, Mycroft." He stood up.

Mycroft smiled and they started heading towards the door. "Goodbye, John. See you tomorrow at lunch."

"Wait? What? Why are you coming to lunch here?" Sherlock asked.

"John asked me, of course!"

"That isn't possible!"

They were still bickering as the closed the door behind them.

oOo

The cab pulled in at Holland Park Avenue and Sherlock jumped out leaving Mycroft to pay.

"Sherlock! That was rude!" Mycroft told him when the cab had gone.

"Paying the cabbie is the assistant's job."

"Sherlock, you're confusing your nouns and your verbs. On this occasion, for a brief period only, I might be said to be _assisting_ you. I am not, and never will be, _an assistant._ I have an assistant."

"Good for you. Why are they closed? They list their opening hours and yet they're closed."

"It's Christmas Eve."

"So what?"

"It's a possible explanation."

"Shut up. I can see someone in the back room." Sherlock started banging on the door. The shop-worker glanced over at him and shook her head with a frown. Sherlock continued knocking until eventually the worker came into the shop and shouted through the locked door that they were closed.

"I don't want to buy anything! I just want to talk to you!"

"Go away!"

"I'm investigating a string of turkey robberies!" As the shop assistant started to unlock the door, Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "That has to be fairly high on the list of things I thought I'd never say."

"Mm. Along with 'thank you, Mycroft, you're a wonderful brother.'"

Sherlock grinned and turned to the shop assistant and smiled. "I'm sorry to bother you, I know you've had a very long day. I just need a bit of information to help me with my enquiry."

"OK." The shop assistant looked slyly between Sherlock and Mycroft.

"I need to know where you got someone's turkey from."

"Well we get them from suppliers."

"Yes. Thank you. What I meant is that I need to know from which specific suppliers you got someone's turkeys. I need to know where M Baker's and J Watson's turkeys were sourced."

"No, sorry, I can't tell you."

"Really? Do you not allocate them per supplier?"

"Well, yeah, we do, but the boss keeps all the records in a book. A handwritten book. With lines in it and crossing out and stuff. He thinks it's traditional."

"And you can't look in the book?"

The assistant sighed. "It's in handwriting. It'll take ages to find two names."

"Can I look?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I've been working since four this morning, walking up and down the queue of people waiting for their turkeys, giving them mince pies and mulled wine and I really want to go home now. It's Christmas Eve!"

"So people keep telling me. Fine, that's fine, I understand." Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "Fine, I cede to you, you win." He fished a ten pound note from his pocket and handed it to Mycroft.

"Thank you, Brother Dearest," Mycroft said, pocketing it.

"What's this?" the assistant asked.

"I bet my brother that the turkey came from a smallholding. One with thirty turkeys or fewer. He said that shops don't do that any more and at it would have arrived with a batch of one hundred."

"Well your brother is wrong," the assistant said. "We do buy from smallholdings."

"Ah, thank you," Mycroft said, "but the nature of the bet related to this specific turkey. Sherlock said he could tell from the slaughtered and plucked bird that it came from a smallholding, and I told him he was talking rubbish."

"Oh, I see. Well yeah, I think it's pretty unlikely that the bird your friend saw came from a smallholding. We do buy from smallholdings, but not as many as from larger farms."

"No, but you can tell!" Sherlock said. "I'll bet you ten quid that John Watson's bird came from a smallholding."

"All right, you're on!" The Assistant retrieved a large red and black notebook from behind the counter. He started flicking through the pages. "Blimey! You were right! Look here, the Boss has used some small holders for years, and he knows them, so they get listed first. They're our prime birds, they can go for up to two hundred and fifty quid, and yep, Doctor J Watson, is that the guy?"

"It is."

"His bird came from Southley's smallholding up in Cricklewood. They sent twenty-two birds to us."

"So I see, thank you."

The assistant's face fell. "About the tenner…"

"I'll bet you double or quits that M Baker's bird came from a different place."

"Accepted and hah! M Baker's came from the Southley's too."

"Marvellous. Pay the man his tenner, Mycroft." Sherlock turned around and headed back out the shop.

Mycroft frowned, then handed the ten pound note from earlier to the shop assistant. "Don't spend it all at Ladbroke's."

The assistant's eyes widened slightly. "How did you know…"

But Mycroft had already turned to follow Sherlock. "You owe me ten pounds," he grumbled.

"It was my ten pounds to start with," Sherlock told him, politely holding the door open. They left the shop

"But you gave it to me."

"Only temporarily."

"You've been stealing from me since you were about two years old. This has to stop, Sherlock…"

The shop assistant shook his head at them and locked the door again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh, so much later than I'd planned! Thanks so much for the lovely reviews! I've read them all, and I apologise for not responding to all of them yet. I will, I promise!**

**Pip.**

* * *

Chapter Three

Sherlock stood on the street and started scrolling through his email.

"Where next?" Mycroft asked him. "I suppose you want to go to Cricklewood?"

"What? Oh, maybe. First though, I want to go back to the flat to meet the guy who dropped his coat and his turkey."

"Why?"

"To see whether he thought his turkey was stuffed with jewellery of course!"

"If he did, why would he have dropped it?"

"Because a policeman was about to nab him. Keep up, Mycroft, you're worse than John!"

"So, Sherlock, when this M Baker comes to your flat to retrieve his Christmas turkey and his coat, you will assess whether he was the jewel thief or not?"

"Yes, if he is, I'll tell Lestrade, and we can all go to John's for Christmas lunch tomorrow."

"You can't. You declined your invitation." Mycroft smiled as Sherlock snarled. "And if he's not the thief?"

"I'll give him his stuff back and we'll go to Cricklewood."

"Yes. His stuff which consists of…?"

"His coat and…"

"Well done. I see you've arrived."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft before he turned and walked back to Lidgates and knocked on the door again. When the assistant came to unlock the door again, Sherlock smiled at him like he was an old friend.

"What do you want now?" the assistant asked.

"I'd like to buy a turkey."

"Well you can't. For one thing, we're closed now, and for another, if you think we'll have an unsold turkey at four on Christmas Eve, you must be living on cloud cuckoo land."

Sherlock pouted.

"My dear sir," Mycroft interrupted. "Are you absolutely sure there isn't a single turkey left in your shop?"

"No, there isn't!"

"Is there a butchered and plucked bird of any kind?" Sherlock begged.

"No!"

"Look! A goose!"

"What? Oh yeah, well that one's mine!"

"I'll buy it from you."

"What?"

"I'll give you…" he turned to Mycroft. "How much money do you have?"

"I have a small fortune."

"How much do you have _here_?"

Mycroft sighed and took out his wallet. "I have four hundred pounds."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "You carry four hundred pounds in cash?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less."

"I can't believe you were going to keep my tenner." He turned back to the shopkeeper and smiled. "I'll give you three hundred pounds for it."

"But then what'll we eat for Christmas dinner?"

"You work in a butcher's shop! I'm sure something will spring to mind."

"Three hundred and fifty."

"Done." He held his hand out to Mycroft who handed seven fifty-pound notes over to him with a sigh. Sherlock handed it over to the shopkeeper and took his goose. "Thank you for your time."

He left the shop a second time and Mycroft followed him.

"You owe me three hundred and sixty pounds."

"I owe you three hundred and fifty pounds and you can't have it because I don't have it."

"You were going to go up to the whole four hundred, weren't you?"

"Oh you don't care, Mycroft, you're as rich as creosote. I, however, am down to my last tin of beans.

"That's not because you're poor, Sherlock, that's because Mrs Hudson's away and you can't be bothered to shop."

"I'm having beans for Christmas dinner and you were going to keep my ten pounds!"

"Don't be so silly. Just call John and tell him you've changed your mind and you'd like to spend Christmas with him."

"That's not my point."

"Do you want to ask me if you can borrow some money or some food?"

"No. That's not my point either."

"What is your point?"

"My point is that you're much more useless than John."

"Ah. I'm surprised I didn't get it. Shall I hail us a cab? Oh, and knight to queen three. I believe I have check."

Sherlock looked furious for a moment. "I'm not paying you back you know."

"I know."

oOo

They sat and stared at each other for a while after returning to Baker Street.

After a time, Sherlock spoke. "Bishop to King six. I'm taking your knight."

"So you are. Pawn to queen three, I'm taking your bishop. Would you care to make me some tea?"

"No." The doorbell rang and Sherlock bounced up to answer it. He returned being followed by a young man, shivering from cold.

"I don't suppose you've got my jacket too, have you?" the stranger asked.

"I do indeed. Can you prove it's yours? Describe it."

"Er, yes. It's a black Diesel jacket. Er, it's got a dark blue lining and a tear down the seam on the right hand side lining. And an ink stain on the other side. On the left side. Inside I mean."

Sherlock smiled at him. "It's clearly yours. And the turkey?"

"Well I'm not sure how to prove that it's mine. Well, it's got my name on it I suppose. It's on a little tag; Mark Baker."

"Good, then the turkey's is yours."

"And you have it?" He looked relieved.

"Alas no. Unfortunately the turkey was lost."

"Lost! Oh damn it!" Mark Baker sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands. Sherlock decided this was the accepted reaction for people who have recently lost their turkeys.

"I do have a goose that I can replace it with."

Baker's head popped up again. "A goose?"

"Yes. I believe it's quite a good quality goose."

"Is it fresh or frozen?"

"Fresh."

"Oh thank goodness. Thank you. You will really let me have your goose?"

"I will. I'm indirectly responsible for losing your turkey."

"How?"

"I let my brother give it away."

"Well, I'm really happy with the goose. Thank you! And thank you for getting in touch with me! All I wanted to do was cook a proper meal for my Mum. She's always refused to have any truck with frozen meat and I just wanted to show her I get her a brilliant fresh turkey all above board! I've been paying them ten quid a month for a whole year and she didn't know or think I would." He sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I'm just really happy."

Sherlock smiled at him. "Well, here is your mother's Christmas goose. I wish you luck with it."

Baker smiled and took it from him. "Thank you again, Mr…"

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. Merry Christmas to you, Mr Baker."

When he returned from letting Baker out he glared at Mycroft. "Now we have to go to the small holding in Cricklewood. Well done."

"How on earth is it my fault?"

"You distracted me."

"From what?"

"From everything!"

"How?"

"By not being John!" He grabbed his coat and stormed from the room. He stormed back in. "You can come if you want but I don't care."

"I think I will tag along."

"Fine."

"Wonderful."

Mycroft followed Sherlock downstairs and watched him sulk on the pavement. He sighed and shook his head and hailed a cab.

Half an hour later they were outside Southley's Turkey Farm in Cricklewood.

"I'd have thought a farm would be bigger than this," Sherlock commented. On the door was a handwritten notice.

'_Merry Christmas to all of our customers! We are now away until the New Year. For next year's turkeys, please contact us after Jan 4__th__.'_

"What now?" Mycroft asked him.

"We'll go around the back."

"Is that legal?"

Sherlock pulled a face. "I'm sure I could describe the act it in a way that it could be considered legal."

"Sherlock, do I have to remind you that I'm a senior civil servant. I cannot be seen to be breaking the law!"

"Don't be seen then." Sherlock set off around the side of the house. He was not surprised that Mycroft followed him.

The large house backed onto several acres of land. There were still some animals around that had missed the Christmas slaughter. There were several goats in pens to the far right of the ground, and beyond them there were several pens containing pigs. Most of it was quiet though, and the two large enclosures in the middle of the grounds were empty. Beyond them, at the back of the grounds was a large brick shed. One of its doors was standing open and Sherlock headed over to it.

"I'm getting mud on my shoes," Mycroft grumbled at him.

"I'm sure you employ someone to clean them." As he got close to the shed, he stopped suddenly and put his arm out to stop Mycroft too. He pointed at the pair of roller blades on the ground outside the shed. He started walking again, quietly and slowly and this time Mycroft stayed where he was. He watched as Sherlock disappeared into the shed. Suddenly a young man tore out of the building with Sherlock hot on his heels.

The boy leapt over the fence into one of the empty enclosures and Sherlock vaulted after him. They boy was in boots which made him slow enough for Sherlock to reach him. Sherlock was still in his shoes which gave him speed but no purchase on the slippery, befouled ground and he fell, bringing the boy down with him. He kept a firm hold on the boy and yelled for Mycroft.

Mycroft appeared over him with a look of distaste on his face.

"I don't know what I'm getting on my shoes now, but I don't think it's just mud anymore."

"I don't know what I'm lying in either. Grab hold of him will you."

"It's OK," the boy said. "I won't run again."

"I'm not so stupid as to fall for that," Sherlock said.

"And yet," Mycroft started, "you're lying…"

"Oh shut up and help me up."

"I don't want to touch you."

"Mycroft!"

Mycroft sighed and let Sherlock grab his arm to get to his feet. Sherlock pulled the boy up after him. He looked about nineteen.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked. "The farm is shut up for the holiday."

"Yeah, and the Southley's ask me to come and feed the rest of the livestock while they're away."

"But it's not your job, is it." He held up one of the boy's hands. "You get these hands manicured. You wouldn't do that just to work on a farm."

"No. I don't. The hands are important see, at my real job. My full time job I mean. I work as a porter at the Savoy and then do other stuff here now and then when they're busy. The thing is, this is really dirty work on the hands, and the customers at the Savoy really notice if you've got dirty hands. So I spend a bit of my wage from here getting my hands sorted out so they'll be good enough for there."

"So you nabbed the jewels from the Ambassador's room when you were at your other job, and brought them here. Why?"

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to say without a lawyer. Aren't you supposed to say some stuff when you arrest me?"

"I haven't arrested you so I don't need to caution you. I'm not even a policeman."

"You're not?"

"No."

"Oh." The boy looked at them for a moment, then turned to run again. Mycroft grabbed him this time. He looked extremely pleased with himself, until he missed his footing too and crashed down to the floor. Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed the boy again.

"Stop running. You've now told us where you work, so the police will identify you and pick you up wherever you are. Do you really think you can give them the slip over an extended chase? Think about it now, your plan involved stuffing the jewels into a turkey that was about to be taken to a shop along with twenty-one other identical turkeys."

"No, that wasn't the plan!"

"What was the plan?"

"Well, there wasn't really one. The things were just there. They were on the table in the ambassador's room while he was yelling instructions to me from in the shower. So I just… picked them up. When I got back to the kitchen, I stuffed them into a chicken that they weren't going to use. Sometimes we do that, if they over order food, some of the staff get to take the extra home. I snagged a chicken that day, and when the uproar about the missing jewellery started I panicked a bit and stuffed the jewels in the chicken."

"So, you smuggled the jewels away inside the chicken. Then, when you needed a hiding place here you thought that the poultry stuffing plan had worked so well for you before, you'd stuff them into a turkey." Sherlock said.

"Well, yeah. Like I say, there wasn't really a plan."

"Why didn't you just leave them in the chicken and take them to your house?"

"Well, I thought my Mum might go a bit spare if she found them. Plus I thought someone might look for them there."

"Ah. I see. What were you intending to do with them?"

"I don't even know! I honestly hadn't thought about it and when I got them here I just really wanted to throw them in a pond somewhere. So I thought I should take them back. We were prepping the turkeys, and I went outside to call the hotel to see if I could get an extra shift, so I could stick them somewhere in the guy's room as if they'd just been dropped. But when I got back into the shed Frank was already loading the turkeys into the van, and they were jumbled up so I didn't know which turkey the jewels were in any more."

"So you set off to try to follow all the turkeys."

"Yeah. It was really hard. I couldn't do it."

"No. Well, you actually nearly had them at one point."

"Really? Which turkey was it?"

"The one on Portobello Road."

"Oh. The one where the copper was. I'm a bit pleased I didn't get that one then."

"Why? Obviously we're going to take you to the police station."

The boy's face fell. "Why? Please don't! I was going to give them back, honestly! And my Mum will do her nut!"

Sherlock considered him for a while.

"Sherlock, do I need to remind you that you are not, in fact, a judge," Mycroft said, from the floor.

Sherlock pulled a face. "Fine. Look, we have to take you in, but all is not lost. Just tell the truth, apologise, explain it all to the ambassador and see what happens."

The boy sniffed. "I'm not sure that will work. It does in fairy tales, but probably not in real life."

"Well, I'm sure that you'll be you'll be assigned excellent legal counsel. Don't you agree, Mycroft?"

"Sherlock, are you going to help me up?"

"I wasn't thinking of it."

"Sherlock!"

"If you'd have been John, you'd never have fallen in the first place."

"Yes, I'm sure John would have sprouted wings and flown in to save the day."

Sherlock smiled and reached down to help Mycroft to his feet. "You're also not as light as John. I'm just saying."

Mycroft frowned at him sternly. "Queen to queen's rook four. Check, and indeed _mate_, Brother dear."

oOo

Christmas evening was quiet and relaxed in the Watson flat. Sherlock had arrived at the flat shortly after midday, and John had welcomed him and waved him in with a smile. He didn't mention the fact that Sherlock had declined the invitation, and Sherlock didn't mention the fact that John had already set a place for him at the table. They'd had a pleasant meal and the turkey was declared delicious. Mycroft particularly enjoyed telling everyone about his time fighting crime on the streets alongside his brother.

Mary's family all left early for another party but Mary said she was too tired to go with them. She went for a rest and when she came back into the lounge an hour later, she found the flat miraculously cleaned and the three men sitting at the dining table, Sherlock and Mycroft opposite John, with a chess-board between them.

"Who's winning?" she asked, sitting down next to John.

"John will win," Sherlock told her.

"He might not!"

"He will."

Mary smiled. "Does anyone want tea or coffee, or anything else to drink?"

"I'll make it," Sherlock said.

Mary let him, and watched John pull his duck face as Mycroft slid his rook across the board.

"Mary, I must apologise for yesterday," Mycroft told her. "I think I misspoke slightly. Of course, when I said 'huge', I obviously meant 'blooming'."

She laughed. "It's fine. I don't feel blooming. I feel huge."

John made his move. "You're beautiful. You're stunning. You're also the most efficient incubation system ever designed."

"Thanks! Always the romantic, my husband."

"Have you thought of any names at all?" Mycroft asked.

"Gertrude!" Sherlock called from the kitchen. "They want to call it Gertrude!"

"We've changed our minds about Gertrude!" Mary called back.

"No! I liked Gertrude. I'm not keen on Trudy, but Gertie's a marvellous name." He came back carrying four steaming cups and sat down at the table.

"I regret not finding out the sex," Mary said. "I really didn't want to know at twenty weeks, but now I do. I'm just bored with not knowing. I want to meet my child _now_ and as I can't I'd at least like to know one thing about the baby growing in me."

"Yes," Mycroft said. "I've heard that the average human pregnancy is about ten weeks too long for all concerned."

Mary smiled at him. "Yes. I think I'd agree with that."

"We could get an extra scan," John told her.

"I know. It seems really decadent though."

John sighed. He moved a knight and looked at his wife. "Check, Mycroft. Mary, if you like, I could try very hard to remember what I saw at the last scan, and let you know if I think, from what little I saw, whether it's a boy or a girl."

"I _knew_ you'd peeped! I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"You didn't want to know before. Do you want to know now?"

"Yes."

"It's a girl. She's a daughter. Your daughter."

Mycroft and Sherlock watched Mary, and were quite astonished at the change in her for a moment. Her eyes shone and she glowed slightly. For a moment they felt almost uncomfortable, as if they were encroaching into a very private and intimate moment in John and Mary's lives.

Mycroft suddenly remembered himself and cleared his throat. "We've stayed far too long. We should leave you alone for the evening." He stood up.

"You should sit down and finish the game," John told him sternly. "Come on, make your move."

He accepted the etiquette of this and sat down again. He made his move.

Mary traced her hand over her bump and smiled.

"She's definitely not a Gertrude," she said. "I guess we'll work it out when we see her face."

"It won't be long now. Hardly any time at all really." He moved his queen. "And that, I believe, is check mate."


End file.
